


I Will Go On

by Phoenixflames12



Series: An Endless Night: Extended Scenes [8]
Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, F/M, Gotham's Writing Workshop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 08:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14328444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenixflames12/pseuds/Phoenixflames12
Summary: Evening of 20th June 1940Claire Beauchamp Fraser tries to process the news about her husband's capture.





	I Will Go On

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read and review this angst-fest of an AU.
> 
> This little instalment can be seen as a sequel to 'We Didn't Talk About Such Things'

**_20th June, 1940_ **

 

**_(Evening)_ **

****

_‘I can’t go on,’_ the words echo numbly through her brain as she sits at the kitchen table, the weight of her head pressed painfully into the heels of her hands.

 

Outside, the children are caught up in their games; their oblivious laughter sounding utterly alien to the strange, shattered world that she now finds herself in.

 

She is thankful that they still have time for laughter.

 

Thankful too that they are able to laugh without crying out in hunger, that their clothes still fit. That Lallybroch and Broch Mordha can provide enough so they do not have to experience the agonising hunger pains that many in the cities were getting painfully accustomed to.

 

The telegram confirming the surrender and capture of all troops in the 51st Highland Division lies on the scrubbed wood before her; the crumpled yellow paper with its’ firm, black letters screaming words that make no sense.

 

All she knows is that somehow she must find a way to tell the children.

 

Watching them shriek across the laundry green as her heart had crumbled into the abyss, clutching the telephone receiver and listening to Jenny stammer into tear-stained silence, she had made up her mind that she wouldn’t tell them until she’d received official confirmation from the home office that what the papers reported was the truth.

 

And now it is here, she doesn’t know what to do with it.

 

Sharp explosions of light burst out before her eyes as she digs her hands in harder, feeling her shoulders rise in remembered agony, trying to contain herself.

 

Trying to disappear.

 

**Capt. J.A.M.M.F. 4 th Seaforth Highlanders. 51st Highlanders Division. Part of British surrender at St-Valery-en-Caux on 4th July. Presumed dead.’ **

‘He can’t be dead’, she hears herself say firmly, the words lost in a great, shuddering breath, sounding strange and distant to her own ears.

 

The world seems to tilt and swerve around her, the afternoon slowly dipping into a soft, evening twilight.

 

‘He can’t… He can’t… He…’

 

_A soft laugh._

_A twinkle of the deepest blue winking at her._

_The weight of large, worn hands encasing her own, long fingers slowly rubbing themselves along their joined skin._

_‘Dinna be feared about it, mo nighean don.’_

_Words whispered out in a final moment of stillness before the children descended into the laird’s room, shrieking out their joy for the gift of this new day._

_A day that would end standing on the railway platform, watching the last vestiges of smoke disappear, one pale face in a sea of many._

_A laughing smile._

_A final kiss; deep and sweet and sorrowful on her lips._

 

_Words thar she will never forget whispered against her hair, the cold weight of a gold locket tucked between shaking fingers, leaning out of the compartment window, holding her face in his hands as she all but ran to keep up with the train, dragging the children with her._

_‘Protect the children for me Claire. Remember me to them. Please.’_

_I will.  I love you. Don’t go._

_Bright, blue cat eyes that darken with something that could be fear flickering over the bold, distinct features, hand shaking as his fingers find hers in a final, desperate squeeze._

_I love ye too, mo Sorcha. But I must. Ye ken that I must._

_But I can’t. I can’t go on without you, Jamie. You know that I can’t._

The words rip out of her, torn and bloodied and anguished.

 

‘Who can’t be dead, Mam?’

 

Startled, she sees Brianna standing in the doorway, her freckles burning against the dying summer light. Faith is just behind her, Willie balanced on her hip, three pairs of eyes wide with unspoken questions.

 

Jamie’s eyes glow out of his second daughter’s face, a snub nose caught in a firework display of freckles, her hair a fiery, tangled crown that has exploded out of its’ plaits.

 

A flicker of Jamie’s smile flickers on Faith’s lips, the tiny wings that cling to her ears peeping out of the darkness.

 

A glimmer of auburn curls are just visible for Willie and yet she hopes, selfishly perhaps that the soft, chubby skin will give way to fine, high cheekbones, the wide eyes will slant and retain the cat-like gleam held by his sisters.

‘Oh, my darlings’, she whispers, holding out her arms for them.

 

They come quickly, Faith depositing Willie on her lap, chubby fingers reaching at once for the glittering shine of Ellen Mackenzie’s pearls that hang looped at her throat, a gummy smile splitting his face with happiness.

 

Brianna tucks herself against Claire’s knee, the pale blue dress that had been fresh this morning splattered with grass stains along the hem. She has lost her hair ribbons, her plaits exploding out into the crown of unruly, firelit curls.

 

Her husband’s eyes shine out of her second daughter’s face, long fingers darting to tickle Willie who gurgles out a giggle.

 

‘ _Mo leòmhann,’_ Jamie often called Brianna in moments of admiration.

 

She pulls Willie closer to her, slowly, lovingly detaching the chubby fingers from the pearls.

 

Faith grips the back of the chair, reaching over to press a small, soft kiss on her cheek and Claire reaches out a hand to grip her own, taking in her daughter’s eyes that are darting to the crumpled, yellow paper and back again, asking a thousand questions which cannot be voiced out loud.

 

_‘It’s not true, is it?’_

 

_‘It is, mo chuisle. I’m sorry.’_  

 

And then, in the quiet and the stillness, she hears her husband’s voice, holding her; grounding her as the world continued to shake from tremors not yet understood.

 

‘ _You must go on, Claire. I ask ye, I beg ye, for the sake of the bairns. Ye must.’_

In the resounding stillness, surrounded by those she holds most dear, her heart cries out in reply.

 

‘ _I will go on.’_

 

* * *

**_Fin_ **

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to read and review!
> 
> Comments, suggestions, constructive criticisms etc are like chocolate to my brain!
> 
> Much love and enjoy x


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